“That’s my hope. We have the rest of the afternoon and evening. Since it would only seem natural, I’d like you to go out and wander around a while. See what you can find. Surely, there are a few people you might want to contact since some time has passed since you left Streamwood. I don’t think anyone would find that out of place.”
An uncomfortable expression tightened Levron’s eyes. “I suppose. But they’ll all be aware I ride with you. That fact alone won’t loosen their tongues.”
Perran laughed quietly. “On the contrary. I think they’ll be interested in asking what you’ve been doing since you left and how you ended up in my company. Once you start talking, I’ll wager they’ll lower whatever guard they’ve erected out of sheer curiosity.”
And so it was that Levron entered a tavern he’d frequented before he left Streamwood. True to Perran’s supposition, several people nodded to him as he took his place at a table situated toward the rear of the room. He requested a cup of ale and sat quietly, nursing his drink. A few former associates stopped by, exchanged brief greetings, and questioned him as to his new station in life. But for the most part, he was left alone. It was apparent no one was overly interested in a former resident of the town, though he was certain word of his arrival with Perran had begun to spread.
“Levron!”
The familiar but strangely unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from his cup into the face of a tall man who stood by the table, a smile on his narrow face. For a moment, the features of the newcomer wavered between that of years past and that of the present; the man’s name, however, was all too familiar.
“Barro.” Levron indicated an empty chair. Memories flashed through his mind, not all of which were particularly pleasant.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you,” Barro said, waving to the barmaid for a cup of ale. “You’ve come up in the world.”
Levron made a dismissing gesture. “Perhaps. Assistant to a traveling judge is hardly an exalted position.”
“So you say.” Barro took a long sip of his drink. “You know I’m to go to trial tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know why?”
“Not really. Only in the broadest sense.”
“Well, let me give you the details. Perhaps you can offer some advice.”
“That,” Levron said, keeping his voice expressionless, “is the last thing I can do. I’m only a judge’s assistant. I don’t know the law.”
Barro’s eyes narrowed. “Not even for an old friend?”
“Not even for an old friend. As I said, I don’t know the law. I’d hate to give you advice that wouldn’t help and might harm.”
“Then hear me out and maybe you’ll change your mind. You know Trika?”
Know Trika? Levron managed a shrug. “Of course.”
“Here’s what happened. I’ve been half in love with her for years.”
“You and the rest of Streamwood,” Levron observed, uncomfortably aware he could count himself in that crowd.
“Hunh. I own a fabric shop and haven’t done badly for myself. I thought I might be of standing enough to court Trika.” His face darkened. “But she was already being courted.”
“Let me guess,” Levron interrupted, unable to stay disinterested. “Haivel.”
“Haivel. That coddled papa’s boy!” Barro swallowed the rest of his ale, his eyes gone hard. “He was always around her, pestering her father for more and more access to her company.”
“And you?”
“I kept my distance, making it obvious I was interested as well. In fact, I went out of my way to give her father discounts on any fabric his wife wanted to purchase. I was never overt in my actions and, as they say, patience pays off. After spending most of her time with Haivel, Trika decided she preferred to see me.”
Levron could tell where this was going. He knew all three individuals involved: Barro, the man who worked tirelessly to better himself; Haivel, whose parents had given him a small shop where he had set himself up as a scribe; and, of course, Trika, the beauty of Streamwood. Trika the Tease. Trika, the woman who, adhering to the customs of Karse, had been allowed to be courted by men her father deemed worthy.
“You know Haivel,” Barro continued, lifting his empty cup in the barmaid’s direction. “He didn’t take this well at all. The more time Trika spent with me, the more upset Haivel grew. I think he was eaten up with jealousy. And finally, he couldn’t accept the way things were and damaged my latest shipment of cloth.”
“Oh? And you saw this?”
“I did. He came around just before dark. I was finishing the last of my orders. I’d gone to the rear of the shop when I heard the door open. I came back to the front in time to see Haivel throw a bucket of paint over the latest bolt of fine cloth I’d ordered from Sunhame! You have no idea how much that cloth cost. It was ruined. Haivel laughed at me—laughed at me—and ran out of the shop.”
Levron leaned back in his chair. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think Haivel was that sort.”
“Well, he is. You haven’t been in town for years and haven’t seen the change in him. I immediately went to the authorities and made my report.”
“Did they arrest Haivel?”
Barro’s face darkened. “They talked to him. He denied everything. He said he had a witness who would swear he was nowhere near my shop that night.”
“And his father took his side?”
“Of course. Dear Haivel, beloved only son, who couldn’t have done anything so dishonest.”
“So you’re taking the case to court.”
Barro squared his shoulders. “I am. Now, old friend, any advice?”
Old friend? Levron all but laughed. Barro had never been a friend . . . an off-and-on comrade, but never a friend. In fact, when he and Barro had been young boys, Barro had been somewhat of a bully, with Levron taking most of the abuse when the two of them were together.
“No advice other than to tell the truth. Judge Perran is quite adept at knowing who’s lying and who’s not. As I’ve told you, I’m not a legalist. I do know a person who lies before him is in worse trouble than if he had not.”
“Some help you are,” Barro muttered. “I guess that’s all I can expect. After all, you aren’t the judge, your master is.”
Levron smiled, despite the veiled insult. “I wish you the best, Barro. Destruction of property is a crime and should be punished.”
“You’re damned right!” Barro shoved his chair away from the table, tossed down a copper coin, and stood. “I suppose I’ll see you again.” And with that, he turned and made his way toward the tavern’s door.
Levron’s shoulders slumped, and he relaxed somewhat, amazed that this meeting had made him so tense. Once again, he felt the pressure of memories from the past. Barro, Haivel, and Trika. He knew, or thought he knew, them all. And, he admitted, he was growing more than relieved he no longer lived in Streamwood.
Perran looked up when Levron entered the room they shared. From the expression on his assistant’s face, he had not spent a pleasant time out in the town.
“Well, did you see anyone you know?”
Levron frowned. “A few. No one I considered close. I did see one of the people you’re to judge tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
“Barro.”
“Ah, the fellow whose cloth was ruined, who reported it was done by Haivel.”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting. A man by the name of Haivel came here looking for you. I can’t believe you didn’t pass him on your way in.” Perran watched Levron closely. “You might want to go out and see if he’s still around. What did Barro have to say?”
“What didn’t he have to say! He told me the whole story, how Haivel ruined a bolt of expensive cloth by dumping a bucket of paint on it. All out of jealousy . . . over, of course, Trika. The two of them are trying to court her. She’d spent all her time with Haivel and then started seeing Barro. He wanted advice, which I refused t
o give him. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
Perran nodded. What Levron told him matched information he’d received before he had agreed to judge this case. However, a new twist had arisen when Levron had gone out earlier and Haivel had come looking for him, information Perran wasn’t yet ready to share. Let Levron find out himself, unprepared for what he would hear. Not being forewarned, his reaction would be unlikely to arouse suspicion of prior knowledge. This, in itself, could aid his observations later. If he could find Haivel.
And the way events had transpired so far, Perran was certain Levron would do just that.
It didn’t take long for Levron to locate Haivel. The inn sported a few tables and chairs to the side of the building where, when weather permitted, people could sit and drink or share a dinner. Agreeing with Perran, Levron was surprised Haivel had missed his recent arrival. He drew a calming breath as he approached another person from his past.
“Levron!” Haivel smiled and nodded his greeting. “Sit, sit. It’s been a long time.”
“That it has,” Levron acknowledged. “So how has life been treating you?”
“I’ve done well. You know I’m a scribe. There’s a good life to be made writing for folk who don’t have the skill.”
“I can only imagine.”
“So you’re assistant to Judge Perran, are you? You obviously made something of yourself when you left Streamwood for Sunhame.”
“I did, and I’ve never regretted it.”
“You know I’m going to trial tomorrow.” Once the polite pleasantries had passed, Haivel jumped straight to the point.
Levron briefly closed his eyes. “And I won’t give you any advice if you ask for it. I can’t.”
Haivel drew back slightly in his chair, his handsome face darkened. “And why is that?”
Fresh memories of his conversation with Barro surfaced, but he refused to let Haivel know the two of them had spoken a short time before.
“I’m slightly aware of the case, but,” Levron repeated, “I don’t know the law, and I can’t offer any advice save to tell the truth.”
Haivel snorted. “Well, let me tell you, if Barro thinks he’s going to have a judgment entered against me, I’m countering him with my own accusation.”
“Oh?” Levron blinked in surprise. “And what did Barro do that you’re going after him in court?”
“He came into my shop one afternoon, in broad daylight mind you, and took a knife to an entire shipment of paper sitting on the counter before I could stop him. Cut it into pieces! Do you have any idea how much paper costs?”
Or what the going price is for a bolt of fine cloth? Levron shook his head in disbelief. “I couldn’t guess, but it probably wouldn’t be cheap.”
“It’s not! I don’t have any idea what possessed him! He’s been acting strange ever since . . .”
Levron waited, refusing to lead Haivel to further explanation.
“Here’s the problem,” Haivel said, spreading his hands. “You know Trika?”
“I knew her,” Levron admitted. “Years ago.”
“I was courting her, seriously courting her. Her father evidently thought well of me. And then, for some reason, she dropped me like a hot rock and started seeing Barro.”
“And?”
“Someone vandalized cloth in Barro’s shop. He swears it was me and reported the crime to the authorities. But I have a witness I wasn’t near his shop. And, days later, he came into my shop and destroyed my paper.”
“That’s odd. In broad daylight, too. Do you have a witness?”
“Only my own two eyes. I can’t let him get away with this.” Haivel drew a deep breath. “Are you certain you can’t—”
“I can’t offer any advice except what I’ve already told you,” Levron said. “Speak the truth. Judge Perran will be able to tell who’s lying and who’s not.”
Haivel shrugged. “I understand, though I hoped you might be able to help a friend, for old time’s sake.”
Old friend again. Do the two of them truly believe we were friends?
“I’ve explained why I can’t. All I can do is wish you the best of luck. One word of caution, however . . . don’t dismiss Judge Perran as just another traveling judge. What I can tell you is this: he’s one of the best, and anyone who thinks otherwise makes a huge mistake.”
The transformation that turned Perran from traveling companion to circuit judge never ceased to amaze Levron, though he’d witnessed it many times. Seated a few paces away from the table Perran sat behind, Levron could see why people could become awed. Clad in his dark robes, the heavy gold chain of his office glittering on his chest, Perran exemplified the authority of the justiciary and, as every citizen of Karse knew, stood as the legal hand of the Son of the Sun.
After speaking with Haivel, Levron had related their conversation to Perran in exacting detail, his expected duty as Perran’s assistant. He had watched Perran’s face go still as all the legal ramifications of the two stories swirled about in his mind. And now, today, those thoughts would be turned into action.
Barro and Haivel had taken chairs before the judge’s table, neither meeting the other man’s eyes. From his vantage point at the front of the room, Levron had a good view of the people who had come to watch the trial. A few latecomers had arrived and, much to Levron’s dismay, Trika had entered the room accompanied by her father.
The years had been kind to her. She still possessed a breathtaking beauty, but Levron sensed something else immediately. The hint of coldness lurked in her eyes, a calculating expression she tried to hide by keeping her gaze modestly lowered. Ah, yes . . . Trika the Tease. Levron could imagine what had driven Barro and Haivel to their crimes. Trika was the source of those misdeeds. He was certain of it.
Perran rapped the table three times, and the room grew silent.
“This court is now in session,” Perran said, his face solemn. “What is said before me is seen and heard by myself as representative of the Son of the Sun and Vkandis Sun Lord. Every word spoken to me is given under oath. State falsehood at your peril.”
Unwillingly, Levron turned his attention to Trika again. Though she maintained her modest demeanor, she looked first to Haivel and then to Barro. In a flash, he knew what motivated her and felt a little sickened by the knowledge. His faith in Perran’s abilities as a judge was absolute: the truth behind Barro and Haivel’s quarrel would be brought to light.
And not a moment too soon, for the sake of everyone involved.
Perran studied the two men seated before him. Neither looked away, both seemingly assured their testimony would win the day. That, in itself, spoke volumes. He cleared his throat.
“I’ll question you first, Barro, since you brought the original accusation against Haivel. From what you’ve told the authorities of Streamwood, Haivel ruined a bolt of expensive cloth by dumping a bucket of paint on it. Now, tell me what you think could have caused a productive and respected citizen of Streamwood to do such a thing.”
Barro stood, bowed his head briefly in Perran’s direction.
“Jealousy, your lordship,” he said.
Perran leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands, and listened to Barro’s account of the vandalism of his fabric and the perceived reason for Haivel’s jealousy. He glanced once at Levron, lifted an eyebrow, to be rewarded by Levron’s nod toward a beautiful woman seated next to an older man, most likely her father. So that was Trika. The source of the trouble that had escalated to vandalism. He continued to listen to Barro’s tale, but he kept watching Trika as the man spoke. He could see how her eyes sparkled, how her face grew animated as Barro set forth his case against Haivel.
“And you saw Haivel throw the paint on your bolt of cloth?” Perran asked.
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Was there anyone else in the shop that night?”
“No, your lordship.”
“Did he say anything after ruining your fabric?”
“No, your lordship. He merel
y laughed and ran out of the shop.”
“I see.” Perran looked down at a piece of paper on the table. “You’ve tendered the court a receipt setting out the value of the cloth. It bears the stamp of Tabot House of Sunhame. Is this the merchant you deal with?”
“Yes, your lordship.”
“And the value of the bolt of cloth is set out here at ten silver soleri. And you say it’s ruined.”
“It is. The paint soaked through it since it’s an intricate weave.”
Perran motioned Barro to sit, then turned his attention to Haivel.
“And you, Haivel.” Perran motioned for the man to stand. “You’ve brought a claim against Barro for destruction of a shipment of paper to be used in your profession as scribe, is that correct?”
“It is, your lordship.”
“Now explain to me why you think Barro would do such a thing.”
Haivel shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only guess it’s revenge for what he thinks I did to his cloth. But I have a witness who will testify I couldn’t have been to his shop that night.”
“But he claims he saw you, and you laughed in his face.”
“Impossible, your lordship.”
“And where is this witness who can give proof you weren’t at Barro’s shop that night?”
For the first time, Haivel’s eyes wandered. “I’m not sure.”
Perran leaned back in his chair and lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“He left town shortly after the incident, your lordship.”
“Then why do you claim you have a witness who can assure me you weren’t at Barro’s shop?”
“Because it’s true! I wasn’t! And my witness would testify to that!”
Perran allowed a smile to touch his lips. “A witness who isn’t here can’t help you. Do you know where this person is?”
“No. He’s another scribe who travels in the area, serving those who can’t read or write.” Haivel’s face reddened. “If I knew where he was, he’d be in court today.”
Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar Page 29
